There was a time when our desire for each other would have landed us in an asylum or prison, had it not been sanctioned by mutual assent. True or false.
I’m not the same person I was before, and I am deathly afraid I will never be her again...
I love you, Clary,” he said without looking at her. He was staring out into the church, at the row of lighted candles, their fold reflected in his eyes. “More than I ever – ” He broke off. “God. More than I probably should. You know that, don’t you?
What really happened doesn’t matter. What matters is how we agree to remember it.
He caught her, and he held her, and he let her cry, and cry, and cry, and he let her use his sheets to wipe her eyes, and her nose, and God knows what, because he had plenty of clean sheets, and he only had one Kat.
No one can force you to become a monster – you hurt someone and you create your own demons.
At the end of the day your ability to connect with your readers comes down to how you make them feel.
She said it was beautiful to be loved, and that it made everything on earth look brighter.
I guess I like things that take time and attention. More worthwhile that way.
A broken heart is just the growing pains necessary so that you can love more completely when the real thing comes along.
Goodness had nothing to do with it.
Her gaze met his, her blue eyes filled with confusion and terror – and love. If Julian hadn’t already been in love with her, that would have done it.
Everything changes except the love.
His eyes are blazing with light, more light than all the lights in every city in the whole world, more light than we could ever invent if we had ten thousand billion years.
If you don’t want to tear off the clothes of the person you’re on a date with and jump into bed with them, then what’s the point? I’d never date; instead, I’d have lots of good friends and hug them a lot and life would be easier and neater and uncomplicated.
To love someone with all of your heart requires reaching them where they are with the only words they can understand.
Someone once told me love isn’t perfect – or predictable.
Ben kissed me like he could kiss me forever, like he had to kiss me forever and he wanted to, he wanted me, and when he felt my surprise at that, I could feel again how beautiful I was to him, how I was beautiful beyond words.
If I’d had enough breath, I would have screamed, both at the sensation and at the sheer pettiness of the bastard who wouldn’t allow me even a tiny chance of escape.
Maybe great, epic romances don’t just happen. We have to make them ourselves.